


Lost Soul

by JohnAmendAll



Category: Adam Adamant Lives!
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 14:20:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3695540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnAmendAll/pseuds/JohnAmendAll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Georgina meets the woman who betrayed Adam, and comes to understand her a little better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Arose from a Livejournal conversation about how Georgie / Louise femslash might be made to work.
> 
> I should probably apologise to Helen Cresswell for misusing the moondial.

Georgina Jones was at a loose end, which was never a good place for her to be. 

As soon as she'd heard that Adam Adamant was taking a few days' holiday in Lincolnshire, she had drawn the obvious conclusion: that he was engaged on a case, and would be in need of the vital assistance she alone could supply. She had quickly tracked him down to Belton House, and had made sure to surprise him, stepping out from behind a pillar as Adam emerged from the main gates on a morning stroll. 

Georgie had been expecting Adam to display his usual reticence about the purpose that had brought him here. Instead, in a few sentences, he had utterly deflated her expectations. 

"My dear Miss Jones, Baron Brownlow has invited me to give an opinion on some pieces of silver he intends to sell," he'd said. "He thought I might know something of their provenance. I attended a hunting party here in nineteen hundred and one, at the invitation of his relative, the late Earl," he'd added, by way of explanation. 

"He's selling the family silver?" Georgie had asked. "Really?" 

"A sad necessity. The house has, apparently, developed dry rot." 

"I should just think it has. No wonder they're pulling them down left, right and centre. Now, if I was him, I'd demolish the whole thing and build something fab like the Nelson Centre in Portsmouth. Have you seen that in the papers?" 

Adam had winced. "I do recollect an article on that subject. As I recall, it was described as a triumph of Brutalist architecture, which hardly seems a compliment to me. Presumably, they called it the Nelson Centre because half of each window was blocked off and the west wing was obviously missing." 

"Oh, you should get with the times," Georgie had said. 

Although Adam had made no answer to that telling verbal thrust, the fact remained that when it came to valuing silver, Georgie was about as much use as a paper dress in a thunderstorm. At Adam's request, Baron Brownlow had granted Georgie leave to wander the grounds, presumably on the theory that she could do less harm there than anywhere else. Georgie knew even less about gardening than about antique silver, but even she couldn't help noticing the long grass, the unkempt hedges, and the weed-strewn flower beds. 

She'd turned her footsteps toward the house, but Adam could hardly have finished looking at silver yet. And if the Baron was in league with Satan, or plotting to take over the world, or hatching some other evil scheme, Georgie thought he wouldn't be revealing it just yet. Of course, if only Adam hadn't blown her cover, she could have got a job as a maid or something, infiltrated his operation, and found out exactly what he _was_ planning. As it was, the Baron knew exactly who she was. Best to keep out of his way until Adam actually needed rescuing. 

Georgie sat down on the base of an overgrown sundial and glared back at the house. 

"This," she announced to the world, "is one big waste of time." 

As if in answer, a wave of giddiness rolled over her. If she hadn't already been sitting, she might have fallen. As it was, she clutched at the sundial for support. She hadn't felt like this since, on a day trip to Margate at the age of seven, she had insisted on riding the Centrifugal Terror and bitterly regretted it. Some of her senses told her that she was still sitting on the base of the sundial, the cold stone immobile under her hand. According to others she was spinning round, faster and faster, the wind roaring in her ears and the world grinding under her like a millstone. The garden was whirling before her eyes... 

Losing her grip on the sundial, Georgie pitched forward and found herself lying prone in the grass. Except she realised, as the roaring in her ears faded away and the blur in front of her resolved itself back into the garden, the grass was too short. It was newly mown. The flowerbeds were immaculately tended, the hedges trimmed with military perfection. There was something odd about the trees, too, as if they were slightly shorter than they ought to be. And had the sun moved? Georgie wasn't sure where it had been before. It looked almost like evening. 

Georgie stood up, and looked around. Nobody seemed to be about, but she was sure she could hear the sound of distant music. Something classical. 

"Loopy!" she said, and shook her head. It didn't make any difference. "I must be going loopy." 

She set off for the house, trying to clear her head. She wasn't the sort of girl to have fainting fits, but if she _had_ fainted, that didn't explain how the Baron had managed to give the garden a complete makeover while she'd been out of things. It would have taken days, and she couldn't have been lying there all that— 

A noise from behind the yew hedge had caught her attention. There was an opening in the hedge not too far from where she stood; it was the work of a moment to tiptoe to it, and cautiously lean through it. 

At first, she wasn't quite sure what she was seeing, but something about it made her uneasy. It involved two young women, that much was plain. One was dark-haired, wearing a plain dress, a white apron, and a white cap on her head. The other was more striking: her jacket and ankle-length dress were obviously of the highest quality, a fur stole was wrapped around her neck, and an ostentatious hat was set on her elaborately-arranged auburn curls. Both of them reminded her of something, but she couldn't for the moment think what. 

When Georgie first set eyes on the two, the dark-haired woman was backed against the hedge, a terrified expression on her face. The other was advancing on her, with a determination that was all too obvious. 

"Please, m'lady..." the first woman whispered. 

The auburn-haired woman reached out, and slowly ran her finger down the brunette's cheek. 

"It's not that much to ask," she said. "Maybe you'll even enjoy it." 

She leaned forward. The brunette made no move to resist; she seemed paralysed, a rabbit in the headlights. 

Georgie made up her mind. Whatever was going on, it wasn't innocent and it didn't look honest. 

"Hey!" she called, stepping round the hedge. 

The two women sprang apart. 

"This is no concern of yours, boy," the woman with the stole said. She turned back to the brunette. "Go back to the house, Mabel." 

"M'lady," the brunette said, and made her escape at something close to a run. 

The other woman turned back to Georgie, a purse now in her hand. 

"Forget you ever saw this, boy," she said, "and you'll get a week's wages. Five shillings just to hold your tongue." 

"Forget it yourself," Georgie shot back. "I don't know what you were doing to that girl, but whatever it was, she wasn't cool with it. Why should I be? And I'm not a boy, I'm a girl, too." 

By way of confirmation on that last point, she pulled off her flat cap and let her hair fall around her shoulders. 

"A girl," the woman said, advancing on her. "Disguised in boy's clothes. For what purpose?" 

"Not this again!" Georgie protested to the world at large. "It's as bad as explaining it all to Adam." 

As she spoke Adam's name, she made the connection. These two people had both reminded her of him. Their appearance was straight out of the photograph albums her grandfather had shown her, with their country houses, their maids, their tweed-clad gentlemen, and their elegantly-dressed, opulent ladies. But before she had time to pursue that thought, the woman was speaking again. 

"'Adam,'" she repeated. "Are you referring to Mr Adamant?" 

"That's the one," Georgie said. "Do you know him?" 

"Know him?" If looks could have killed, Georgie would have been lying dead on the grass. "And who are you to make so free with my fiancé's name?" 

"Your fiancé? Cripes!" Georgie stared at the woman. Adam, she knew, had only ever had eyes for one woman. On that subject he was even more reticent than usual, and Georgie's most insistent probing had only ever extracted one word. " _Louise?_ " 

"You insolent chit!" Louise snapped. She darted forward, and would have slapped Georgie in the face had Georgie, equally rapidly, not caught her hand. 

"You dare touch me, girl?" she demanded, colour rising in her cheeks. 

"There's not a lot I don't dare," Georgie shot back. 

Louise leaned closer. "You have ten seconds to apologise," she said. "Or I shall have you dismissed without a character." 

"I'd like to see you try." Under her bravado, a worrying thought was beginning to steal over Georgie. Louise's behaviour had put her in mind of Adam's, the first day after he'd been revived. But the maid, the state of the garden, the distant music... could it be that Louise was in her right time, and Georgie was the interloper? 

Or she could be dreaming, of course. With her free hand, she pinched herself, to no avail. 

"I'm very sorry, my lady," she said. 

"That's better." Louise lowered her hand. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?" 

"I'm just looking round." Inspiration struck Georgie, and she added "Mr Adamant said I could." 

"Did he, indeed?" 

"He said it might improve my taste." 

"I think," Louise said dryly, "that might call his own into question." 

Georgie's temper rose again, sweeping aside her caution. 

"Look," she said. "Can I ask a question? Just one? Please?" 

"What question?" 

Georgie took a deep breath. "Why?" 

"What do you mean, 'why'?" 

_Why did you betray him to the Face?_ , Georgie wanted to ask. But from the way Louise spoke of Adam, maybe she hadn't decided to do that yet. And Georgie certainly didn't want to be the one who put the idea in her head. 

"You've got it all," she said instead. "You're rich, you're beautiful," _I suppose Adam thinks so, anyway,_ she silently added. "You've got people running round after you doing whatever you want. You've got everything. So why aren't you happy?" 

Louise turned away, and for a moment seemed inclined to sweep away in high dudgeon. Then she turned back, and advanced on Georgie once again. 

"Everything?" she repeated. "Oh, no. Definitely not everything." 

"So what haven't you got?" 

Louise hesitated again, but it looked as if she thought she'd come too far to turn back now. "Love." 

"But Mr Adamant..." 

"Adamant!" Louise almost spat the word. "You really don't understand, do you, girl?" 

She caught hold of Georgie by the chin, leaned forward, and kissed her. 

It wasn't the first time Georgie had been kissed by girls of an experimental turn of mind. Or, once or twice, made the experiment herself. But there had always been a hesitancy that was entirely lacking in Louise. This was a woman who knew her own mind — and her own body. 

"There." Louise broke off the kiss and pushed her away. "Now you know what I am. And if you breathe a word of this to anybody — particularly my fiancé — I swear I shall have you horsewhipped." 

"You could just have asked me to promise," Georgie said. "I keep my promises, you know." 

"Then promise — no. Swear you will never tell a living soul." 

"I swear." Georgie felt a rush of adrenaline as Louise drew closer again. "Now just hang on—" 

Louise kissed her again, even more forcefully. "You swore you wouldn't tell," she whispered. "Now I can do with you as I please, and no-one a penny the wiser." 

"Get knotted," Georgie replied, and tried to pull away. Louise caught hold of her by the arms; they swayed together, locked in something between a wrestling hold and an embrace. As a rule, Georgie considered herself a fairly decent fighter, but Louise was no shrinking violet, either. Their struggle quickly became a stalemate, neither able to gain the upper hand or willing to break off. 

As Louise's hat tumbled to the ground and her tangled auburn locks whipped round Georgie's face, Georgie realised that her own murkier desires had been stirred up; she was almost enjoying this. And — there was no denying it — on some level she felt sorry for Louise. The girl had been brought up to consider her deepest desires wrong, malformed, evil. This was why it was so important to let everything hang out, of course, not bottle it up. If only Louise could have found the right girlfriend, maybe she wouldn't have turned into the woman who had sold Adam out to the Face. Georgie might not have been able to ask why Louise had betrayed Adam, but she had her answer. High society had forced Louise to choose between love and respectability; in revenge, she had allied with someone prepared to tear that society down. 

They were almost cheek to cheek, still striving for an advantage, when Georgie turned to Louise and whispered "What did I tell you about just _asking?_ " 

"What?" It seemed to take Louise a moment or two to grasp the point. "I don't need to ask for anything." 

"But it's so much more polite if you do," Georgie said, and kissed her. 

Louise gave a soft gasp. "Very well. _Please_ may I have my way with you?" 

"There you are," Georgie said. "See how much easier it is when you ask nicely." 

As they kissed again — on equal terms, for the first time — Georgie felt the slight tremble of Louise's hands. Louise might be brimming with aristocratic self-confidence, but Georgie wondered how much practical experience she had had with girls. What was about to happen might be new to both of them. 

She prepared to give the best account of herself that she could. Her world was one of openness, experimentation and free love. There was no way Louise could match that. And she definitely hadn't bitten off more than she could chew. 

Definitely not. 

⁂

"Miss Jones!" 

Georgie was lying fully-clothed, face-down in the long grass, her head spinning, and somebody was shaking her. 

"Miss Jones, are you all right?" 

Georgie managed to raise herself on her elbows and look around. She was back at the sundial, lying where she had fallen before. Adam was kneeling beside her, concern on his face. 

"I'm OK," she said. "Just chilling." 

"Then might I suggest the loan of a good coat?" 

Georgie laughed. "I didn't mean that." She climbed to her feet, rather more slowly and carefully than she'd intended. "Look, I'm fine." 

"You're sure? Miss Jones, you had clearly fainted." 

"That'll be the day," Georgie said, with a confidence she didn't quite feel. 

Adam's concern seemed unabated. "Have you been eating properly? Did you have any breakfast today?" 

"Yes, Wonder Flakes, same as usual." 

"Wonder Flakes," Adam repeated, shaking his head sadly. 

"Look, Mr Adamant, there's nothing wrong with me." 

"Possibly not," Adam said. He was gazing past Georgie, at the overgrown shrubbery. "Do you know, when I was here in nineteen hundred and one, something very similar happened to... to a young lady of my acquaintance. She went for a walk in the gardens one evening and was missed. A search was made, and she was found in a swoon not too far from here. It's almost enough to make one believe in the _genius loci_." 

"Well, it can't have been because she'd been eating Wonder Flakes," Georgie said firmly. 

"No." Adam gave the overgrown garden another wary look. "Perhaps it would be better if you came in, and took some tea." 

"Good idea, I could just do with a cuppa." Ignoring the arm that Adam held out for her, Georgie set off for the house at a brisk walk. "So what was she like, then?" 

Adam had seemed, for a moment, lost in memory. "Who?" 

"This bird who conked out here way back." 

" _De mortuis nil nisi bonum_. So I shall merely say that she was a remarkable young lady, in her way. Intelligent, sensitive and beautiful." Adam gave Georgie, who was standing beside a statue trying to match its pose, a disapproving look. "And she always behaved with absolute propriety." 

Georgie rubbed her arm, where Louise had bitten her hard enough to leave a mark. _Yes,_ she thought. _I'm sure she did._


End file.
